


only stone and steel

by lennonbum



Category: Morrissey RPF, The Smiths
Genre: M/M, Morrissey the Cancellation Queen, boz is confused, johnny probably has a morrissey-solo account, years of refusal-era is what gives me life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-20
Updated: 2015-04-20
Packaged: 2018-03-24 23:26:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3788278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lennonbum/pseuds/lennonbum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>By chance, they had managed to end up in the same city, at the same time. Chance was an understatement, though, Morrissey mused to himself, and promptly he decided that fate was more appropriate, a wickedly hideous twist of fate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Since the fic takes place in '09 and Marrissey is canon, I'm guessing Johnny and Angie never married or that they got divorced somewhere along the line. I like Angie, so I don't want to make her totally disappear off the planet just yet. Bear with me, and enjoy.

By chance, they had managed to end up in the same city, at the same time. Chance was an understatement, though, Morrissey mused to himself, and promptly he decided that fate was more appropriate, a wickedly hideous twist of fate. The singer sat cross-legged upon the tightly dressed hotel bed, considering the possible cancellation of the evening's performance, much to Boz's dismay. 

"I can't believe you'd even think to cancel," the guitarist complained, pacing in a horrendously annoying fashion. "it's not like Marr's gonna come in and bomb the place just 'cos you're playing. He doesn't hate you like you hate him." 

Morrissey flinched. "I do not hate him, as a matter of fact," he assured, tilting his nose toward the ceiling just the slightest bit. "you'd be the same exact way if you were in my situation." 

"Then you're obsessed with him. You always have been." Boz was challenging him just like a talk show host. "Leave me alone," Morrissey sighed, rubbing his eyes. "I make much more rational decisions when I'm by myself." Boz exhaled, his stocky frame wilting. "Don't cancel the bloody show. It's just a thing, Moz. You're overreacting again. It'll be fine." 

"Again?" Morrissey looked over his shoulder. Before he could get an answer, Boz had already gone. 

/

 

Carnegie Hall

 

Morrissey left the stage as quickly as he could manage and scampered back to his dressing room. 

/This is normal,/ he tried reassuring himself. /this always happens./

But never during shows. Never. Concerts were a time of release, of passion, and Johnny had to come back and ruin everything. Morrissey was so close to forgetting about him, and that's what made it all so much worse. 

"Moz? You alright?" Jesse's voice came like welcoming outstretched arms from the other side of the door. "What? Oh, yes— I'm fine...why?" He must've sounded awfully flustered. "You disappeared back there! I figured something was bothering you. Do you mind if I come in?" 

In his haste, Morrissey had forgotten to lock the door behind him, granting Jesse entrance despite Morrissey wanting him to be there or not. "Hey," Jesse waved, flashing his winning smile, the smile that made Morrissey's heart flutter, if not only a little. The singer didn't know if Jesse was aware of his tendencies to take his (ever changing) band members to bed, but settled on the thought that he didn't, and decided that perhaps it should remain that way. Jesse was a very wonderful person, and Morrissey would hate to lose him in the account of something as foolish as sexual fulfillment. 

"What's going on?" Jesse inquired, leaning on Morrissey's dresser. "Nothing," Morrissey insisted, focusing on an object somewhere on the floor. "Come on. Something." Anyone else's obnoxious prying would've squeezed a temper tantrum out of Morrissey, but Jesse was only trying to comfort him. "It's just…Johnny's here. Johnny Marr." 

Jesse's eyes widened. Though he'd never heard Marr's name escape Morrissey's lips— among the band, Johnny's name had become something of an unforgivable swear word —he had, though, been treated to the dramatic rise and fall of the love story by Boz, so plenty of the details remained rich in his mind. 

"He's here? As in the venue, here? Or the city, here?" 

"Christ, I don't know if he came. But he's definitely in the city, and he knows I'm here, too. I can't put it to rest, Jesse, I'm very disturbed." Morrissey answered quietly, his eyes on the ground. "Hey, it'll be alright." Jesse rested a hand upon Morrissey's shoulder. "What are you so worried about?" 

Morrissey was silent for a minute, or thereabouts. "I'm worried about, well, me. If I don't see Johnny while I've got this opportunity, I'll go mad, and if I do see Johnny, I'll go mad. I can't ever win. I want to go back to bed, that's all." 

/

 

Everyone had stupidly decided that offering moral support all at once would calm Morrissey's nerves. Morrissey was no one to reject kindness, however, so he endured his band-members' thoughtful one-liners and shoulder patting. 

"Ah, and you're the best tambourine player I've ever seen." Matt added with a keen grin. Morrissey smirked and shooed the lot of them to bed. They'd all need the rest for the remainder of the tour, and so far, they'd scarcely received it. 

Once he was alone, Morrissey made the room as dark as it could be, pulling the curtains to smother New York City's ever glistening lights and switching off all the lamps. The cold sheets would have lulled him to sleep in an instant any other evening, but Morrissey couldn't clear his mind, despite his efforts. He tossed and turned, tangling himself in the duvet, wondering just what the hell was wrong with him. It went on for about four hours before he finally drifted to sleep.

/

 

Morrissey stirred the following morning to the noise of Solomon retrieving something from his bag that he'd left in Morrissey's room. "Morning, Mozza." He must've seen the singer sit up. 

"Good morning," Morrissey hummed, more than a little bit somberly. "You're like a vampire in here. It's too dark." Boz interjected, stepping in and drawing the curtains. "I must be, then," Morrissey cringed at the sunlight, holding a hand before his soft blue eyes. "Where are you going?" Morrissey turned to look at Solomon and Boz. "Out for lunch." Solomon answered with a faint smile. 

"Lunch?" Morrissey raised an eyebrow, and glanced at the bedside clock. "I slept that long? Shit. I'm sorry." Boz shook his head. "No, no. You deserved it. We'll bring you something." 

As the group slowly disbanded from the hotel room, leaving Morrissey to his quiet thoughts once again, the singer stood from the bed and dressed, half waiting for his phone to ring, half hoping it would, because the only person who'd have any business calling his personal phone that day would, of course, be Johnny. He drummed carefully painted fingers on the desk before him, looking out of the window, aqua eyes flitting from skyscraper to skyscraper. 

The city was the same, he decided, just the same as it was last time he'd been to it. Nothing new to see. 

Taking the magnetic room key into his hand, he left the room and strolled, rather aimlessly, to the hotel lobby. He considered himself quite fortunate, not being swarmed by throngs of gladiolus-wielding admirers and the like, but even still, those days were far from over. 

Morrissey took his time glancing about, eyeing obscure paintings and glass shelves full of gloves and tiaras and fans from decades earlier. He caught sight of the skyline once again, and half considered sitting down for a drink in the neighboring lounge, but was halted by a gentle hand on his shoulder. 

/

Morrissey, for the first time in years, was utterly speechless. 

"I know you're angry with me, and you've every reason to be. But, listen—" 

"How did you find me?" The stubborn hiss of an inquiry was nearly the only thing Morrissey could muster, still too timid to look Marr in the eye. "Morrissey-solo told me, I'll be honest." Johnny answered, smiling oddly. Morrissey rolled his eyes, choosing to study the window instead of Johnny once more, annoyed beyond belief. "Come on, Moz. Isn't it a little pathologic to keep on like this?" When the older of the two said nothing, Marr sighed and sat next to Morrissey on the edge of the bed, which was, the singer thought, a bit unruly and very uncomfortable. 

"Steven. You brought me up here for a reason. You couldn't scream at me in the lobby, right?" 

"Shut up," Morrissey snapped, looking Johnny's way at last. "Don't you dare call me that, you putrid, mouth-breathing imbecile." Johnny only appeared slightly wounded by Morrissey's retort. "Alright, excuse me, then." The pair fell silent, if only for a moment. 

"What do you want from me, Johnny?" Morrissey asked, nearly pleading. "I just want to talk. About you and about me." Morrissey chuckled. "And that means completely erasing the, erm, suggestive content that's living in both our memories, just like the last time we tried to mend things, am I correct?" 

Johnny lowered his gaze. "I'm sorry, for everything. I can't say that enough, Moz, I really can't stress it enough. Please, tell me it's okay. I can't take it anymore." 

"I still care for you," Morrissey admitted. He didn't sound even remotely sincere, and he was still a bit too disturbed to lock eyes with Marr, even for one moment, so he stood, and walked to the window. 

"What? I care for you, too, Morrissey, I—" 

"You don't understand. I care for you in such a way that it drains me of a conscience. You've not seen what I've seen since we've been so far apart, and, to say the least, my experiences haven't been happy or fulfilling. I've longed and lusted for someone to take your place, and, how love continues to maim me, you would not believe if I told." At last, Morrissey faced Johnny. 

"I still love you, and very much so. You've forgotten, haven't you? Everything we've done." 

Johnny's bottom lip quivered as he pondered for the correct words to utter. "Moz, that's why I'm here, don't you realize that? God, I can't tell if I'm crazy or if it's you that's crazy." Morrissey hummed a single note. "I do suppose it'd be fair to say that we're equally crazy, then." 

"Do you forgive me?" 

"Perhaps." 

Johnny rose to his feet, and before the singer could protest, wrapped a slender arm about Morrissey's waist and kissed him gingerly upon the mouth, and to the guitarist's very surprise, Morrissey seemed to lean into his embrace. Johnny smiled, slowly and to himself, marveling at how effortlessly they slipped back into place with one another, as if nothing had ever even gone wrong. 

Much to Marr's chagrin, Morrissey severed from the kiss. Reaching behind him, he pulled the curtains shut (the same curtains that Boz had so intrusively and so mercilessly yanked open) and pressed another kiss that was hardly chaste to Johnny's lips. "Come on." the singer demanded. Johnny smirked, hands firm on Morrissey's waist, shoving the singer into the blankets. 

Morrissey moaned quietly when Johnny's lips brushed against his throat, eyelids fluttering, breathing erratic. "I missed you," Johnny crooned. "Moz, I really did miss you." Morrissey laughed under his breath, quietly wanting to waste no time. "Of course, of course. Get on with it." 

Johnny unbuttoned Morrissey's black shirt, biting down softly on his collarbone, prying the singer's belt away and hooking his thumbs under the waistband of his trousers. "They'll be back soon," Morrissey warned, quietly. "I'll be quick." Johnny assured, not knowing exactly who "they" were.

Lying with the guitarist between his thighs, Morrissey did his best to, if only momentarily, forget he and Johnny's prior conflict. All the singer wanted to focus on was the warm, wet mouth on his neck and the buzzing in his head. He felt slightly depersonalized; this forgotten intimacy certainly was playing hideous tricks on his brain. 

"Moz?" 

"Hm?" 

"Do you, um, want to wait until—" 

Morrissey sat up on his elbows. "Right…that would be wise." As soon as the words left his mouth, the hotel door swung open. Morrissey nudged Johnny off of him with a wink, and Boz raised a quizzical eyebrow at the scene before him, Morrissey lying with his trousers and shirt undone, and the used-to-be estranged guitarist perched beside him. 

"Friends again, then?" asked Boorer, and Morrissey chortled at the man's confusion. "Oh, believe me," Morrissey nodded. Johnny shrugged, standing from the bed and pecking Morrissey on the cheek. "Eat your lunch, I'm gonna go get my things. Be back." 

As Johnny left, Boz's eyes only widened. "Is he moving in with you, then, Moz? Is he coming with us for the rest of the tour? What the hell is going on?" Morrissey rose, smirking. 

"What'd you get me?"


	2. In the Presence of Human Touch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I promised smut. Here it is.

The afternoon was spent catching up with one another, Johnny going on and on about this and that, and Morrissey nodding and humming as the guitarist spoke. 

As night fell, Morrissey's band mates retired to their beds, leaving Johnny and the singer to themselves once again. "I should go to bed," Morrissey thought aloud. "I really should. We're heading to Mashantucket early tomorrow and I wouldn't want to sleep in." Johnny tried to hide a grimace. Morrissey was silent for a moment, but then glanced over at Johnny, smirking. 

"Do you really think I'd leave you hanging, you silly git?" 

Johnny sniggered, pulling Morrissey to him and kissing him full on the mouth, pressing the singer into the mattress. Morrissey whimpered against Johnny's lips as the younger man managed to strip Morrissey of his clothing, this time much more than some few undone buttons. Johnny shrugged out of his black t-shirt, tossing it behind him. The guitarist was nearly bothered by the fact that he'd probably have to search for it the next morning, but quickly put that aside. 

Once the two were entirely bare, lying in each other's arms, Johnny lifted his head and kissed Morrissey gently. "You wouldn't happen to have any lube, would you, Moz?" Morrissey licked his lips and nodded, pointing his gaze over at the bedside table, where Johnny spied a relatively small bag. "Right." 

Climbing over Morrissey, Johnny reached for the bag and, after some plundering, fished out a small flask and sneered to himself. Returning to Morrissey's side, Johnny knelt between Morrissey's thighs and kissed down his chest, and with his free hand cupped the side of Morrissey's face. "Are you sure this is okay with you? I don't wanna make you uncomfortable, or anything." 

Morrissey rolled his eyes. "I'm not a butterfly. You won't break me." Johnny simpered. "If you're sure." Johnny waited no longer, brushing a lubricated fingertip gently against Morrissey's entrance, pressing a kiss to the older man's inner thigh. "Johnny," Morrissey begged, his entire frame stiffening. Johnny pushed his middle finger into his beloved singer, his length immediately hardening at the sound of Morrissey's soft whines. Gradually, Johnny went faster with his fingers, and Morrissey grew louder, relishing the feel of unconditional love that he hadn't felt for so long. 

When Johnny curled his fingers inside of the singer, Morrissey tilted his head back against the headboard and moaned, furrowing his brow when Johnny withdrew his fingers. "Is…is that all, then?" Morrissey stammered, blinking quite rapidly, chest heaving. "Fuck, no," Johnny snickered, spreading Morrissey's legs and generously lubing himself up, and with one hand on Morrissey's waist, aligned himself with the singer's hole. He eased into him, at first, and when Morrissey assured Johnny of his readiness with an acute groan, Johnny pushed inside of him in the exact way he'd longed to since the last time he'd done so. 

Morrissey, already a mess of pitchy squealing, clawed at the sheets beneath him as Johnny fucked him, his heart skipping beats whenever Johnny murmured his name, whenever he called him 'baby' followed by the most singsong moans he'd ever heard. 

As Johnny's cock brushed sweetly against Morrissey's sensitive insides, the singer dug short fingernails into Johnny's back as he began to feel release overwhelming him. He babbled Johnny's name again and again until he finally came in between them, losing himself momentarily in the ecstasy. Panting, Johnny fell to his side, an arm draped over Morrissey's torso. "Did you come?" Morrissey asked, his voice small. 

"Yeah. At about the same time you did." 

Morrissey hummed, looking tired and thoughtful, snuggling into Johnny's chest. "Mm, isn't that what happened in Lady Chatterly's Lover? They came at the same time, in the woods, and—" Johnny laughed quietly. "You know I'm not as well read as you, but I'll take your word on that one." Morrissey let his eyes fall shut and he smiled, feeling happy and loved once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, how I wish this would happen in real life, but alas.  
> Anyway, there's your smut, you scoundrels. Hope you enjoyed, I know I was entertained with writing it! Be gentle with feedback, please, & there's more where this came from!


End file.
